


The Legend of Nightfall

by Cloud0



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Damian is a nice brother and uncle, Dick Grayson will be a mess, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Sorry, I'm a pro at using curse words and bleeping it, It's for my entertainment and yours, My First AO3 Post, No Sex, OMC is a confused boy, brief mentions of non con/rape, no editing, we die like mne
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-09
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-07 02:30:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17357216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cloud0/pseuds/Cloud0
Summary: Hello my name is Dez Flores. I don’t give a f*** about you though. I’m a twenty-six-year-old man who can’t give a sh=' about anything. At least to the outside, it looks that way. Truthfully, I care more about the wellbeing of others over my own. It’s why I became a hero.





	1. Chapter 1

(Disclaimer: anything you recognize I do not own.)

**Prologue (Get out the tissues ladies. Here comes my sob story)**

 

Hello my name is Dez Flores. I don’t give a f*** about you though. I’m a twenty-six-year-old man who can’t give a care about anything. At least to the outside, it looks that way. Truthfully, I care more about the wellbeing of others over my own. It’s why I became a hero.

             My life was messed up from the moment I was born. My mother birthed me in a max security prison in Bludhaven. Turns out that my supposed to be special person (you know the one that is supposed to tuck you in and give a d**** about you) is a murderer. The murder happy harpy did give me my name after one her victims. My name is Desmond, so I guess that was either some type of remorse or giving my supposed sperm donor the middle finger. 

             I was thankfully put in foster care, and thank f*** cause I didn’t want to grow behind bars with my trigger happy mother. My foster life wasn’t nearly as bad as it could be in Blud. I was raised by some honest people, the Ramons, for my first five years of breathing. They were a big foster family though with nine kids ranging from 5-14 years old. I was fine in the Ramons care even with all the ruckus that practically oozed from our very beings. I was a pretty happy five-year-old. So of course, Murphy’s Law had to screw me over.

            The Ramons with their scrambling foster kids decided to go to McD’s for some takeout. Unfortunately, us being kids dared Marie and Keith (sitting in the first row) to scare Mrs. Ramon while she was driving. We were all kids, so we didn’t think that this would cause any real trouble. We also didn’t have our seatbelts on either cause those things wanted to strangle us. Mr. Ramon was turning in the passenger seat to scold us kids for scaring Mrs. Ramon when I felt myself flying. Next thing I knew, I was in the hospital. There I got filled in by a sleazy dirt bag of an officer what happened.

            Mrs. Ramon jumped when Keith and Marie made their move. Both Mrs. Ramon’s hands went in the air and her knee hit the steering wheel. We went into the opposite lane. An eighteen-wheeler was waiting for us. Let’s just say eighteen-wheeler versus minivan was a shoe in for the monster vehicle. Out of the accident, I had the least amount of injuries, for I was in the last row due to being the youngest and smallest to push around.

            Mrs. Ramon, Mr. Ramon, Keith, Marie, Charlie, Kellie, Rachel, Taylor, and Seth weren’t so lucky. No one besides me and Aaron survived, and Aaron lost feeling in his legs. He was in the row in front of me only being seven. I only broke my arm and got some bruised ribs out of the accident. Now that hurt like a b**** as a five-year-old, but the emotional pain was worse. I lost my whole family in that one day. I was desperate to see Aaron, but he was in the ER still. I was told by Officer Sleazy in no uncertain terms that I would be put in a different home than Aaron. I started bawling then, and Officer Sleaze bag at least had the decency to leave me to mourn by myself.

           After the car showdown, I was a terror. I would run from any and every foster home I was put in. I didn’t care for anyone except myself, and I wanted to see Aaron. He was the only person left of our rag tag family. No one except Aaron could ever be a family member to me again. I always ran to try and find Aaron. Especially not some random strangers trying to replace my family. Needless to say, I soon became a ward of the state. No one wanted a problem child that was emotionally traumatized and grieving for his family. Once I ran, every family immediately decided I was nothing but trouble. No one tried to look at my motives behind my actions. 

          I would love to say that this unfortunate trend of uncaring families stopped, but that would be a load of bulls***. I eventually gave up and decided to stay on the streets at the young age of 6. Because I lived on the street, I got involved with the gang Funeral. It was inevitable since I was young and inconspicuous. Youthful and innocent equals runner on every level and plus hundred points if it’s a street kid with no one at home. 

          The streets were horrible, but at the same time better than any prospect I had at the time. My job was pretty simple. I had to get the drug from the dealer to the buyer in the most discrete way possible. The Funeral had a drug that cost more than a pretty penny and somehow got some very rich people wanting some. I had to be as unnoticeable as possible to deliver the product to the crazy rich clients all over Blud. It got me involved in some pretty risky situations from air vents to pretending to be a little kid and giving a toy filled with product to a Mr. Richard Grayson-Wayne. His face was hilarious when I doubled back to see if he figured I was giving him his latest purchase. 

 

I’ve been in hundreds of bad and risky situations from clients wanting more for less or being mad at being conned. I was always able to effectively get away with my body mostly intact till I was 9.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1:**

     A figure in a black mask found me in the middle of my sneaking during a delivery on my ninth birthday. One wet rag pressed to my face later, I was knocked out. The funny thing is that it wasn’t some pissed client or an opposing gang.

 

I was terrified when I woke up on a stranger’s bed with a Hispanic lady stroking my cheek.

 

She saw my mounting horror and whispered, “Hush mi hijo. I’m here. Everything is all right baby. It’s all okay.”

     Needless to f+=’ing say my panic did not calm down in the least. This lady was mental to think of herself as my mother. I was no one’s ‘hijo’ especially not to the woman who drugged me and laid me on her bed while spouting some rapist bullsh”;: I had to bite my tongue before I told her those exact words.

 

Instead I asked, “Mi madre where have you been?”

 

She leaned back from me a bit and stood in front of me. I could finally breathe without her face up in my grill. Before I could even sit up properly, she was embracing me.

 

She started stroking the back of my head, and all I could think of was, _What the h4ll is wrong with this lady?_

 

She tightened her hold and whispered into my ear, “I couldn’t wait to see mi niñito. I finally got out of the da’n  prison after ten long years. I just kept hoping to see mi niñito the whole time and look at you! Look how big you are! You have my nose and ears, and you most definitely have my skin tone.”

 

     In the middle of her tirade, she let me go to get a good look at me. She made me stand in front of her, and she dropped to one knee before taking my face in her hands. She bopped my noise and pulled at my ears as she mentioned them. And for some f’[‘;ing reason, I was starting to feel a little less guarded. My “madre” sounded like a mom. The kind of mom I dreamed would come and rescue me after a beating from a pissed off lackey. I was conveniently ignoring the ten years in prison and the drugging which was idiotic on every level. The me of today actually cringes at younger me’s naivety. The streets broke mini me’s desire of only having the Ramons, so many beatings from failed runs makes a kid more open to a figure who gives a sh@t. I was so hopeful to have a mom or something remotely resembling one that I didn’t care about her past.

 

My hopes were slightly dashed with this next sentence that was spewed from her mouth, “You’ll even be strong enough to help me against your father.”

 

Unfortunately for mini me, my hope still made me a gullible fool. “My father?”

 

“Sí mijo, your father put me in jail for ten years even with you inside of me. He condemned us both. I couldn’t leave to take care of you, and he left you to the streets.”

 

I knew I shouldn’t listen to her at all with the drugging and prison time, but her words still rocked me. “My father is alive?”

 

“Yes he is mijo. He is the Nightwing, vigilante and detective of Bludhaven.”

 

“Wait, you’re telling me the guy in the black skintight suit is my father?”

 

“His suit is a suitable weapon of distraction for people like me. Your father was embarrassed of our rooftop love. He had another woman, and to save his hide, he sent us to prison.”

 

“But he’s a hero! He was the first Robin, right?”

 

“How informed of you, mijo. He was the first Robin, protegee to the Greatest Detective. If anyone would have been able to know about you, it would have been him.”

 

She got closer and held my shoulders while still on one knee. _Doesn’t that hurt after a bit? What type of person is she? an athlete who’s hardcore into restricted blood flow?_

“He knew about you mijo. He still left me to rot to save his relationship. He threw us both away. Me to jail, and you to the streets…”

 

 

“He left me on the streets…”

 

“And your mother behind bars. He left us both to rot. Do you want to make him pay? All the pain and suffering my poor hijo has gone through. Don’t you want to get some payback on your father for throwing us to the wolves?”

 

“But he’s Nightwing. I don’t think we could take on a vigilante.”

 

“Trust me mijo. We will succeed.”

 

The h#ll that happened after defined me.

 


	3. Chapter 2

Vengeance boot camp with my mother, Catalina Flores, was harder than h@ll for a nine-year-old. Every time I would fall, my mother would just shout, “Desmond Mateo Flores get up! You have to be better, or you’ll never survive.”

 That bootcamp showed me just how out of my league both mi madre and father were. I would always hesitate when striking, but mi madre would never falter. She knew her body and her limits. Mi madre had training, and she knew how to use it. I never learned how to f@cking fight in the streets. Stealth was always the best option when dealing with pis8’d stronger adults.

 Sneaking all the time didn’t make the best hand to hand combatant. Mi madre made it clear how disappointed she was with my lack of fighting skills by beating the heck out of me. Mini me at the time thought she was being tough because Nightwing would kill me otherwise. Vigilantes like the Bats had to have some superhuman ability to survive.

 After three weeks of relentless spars and katas, my mother gave up on my useless as{.

 

“Mijo you are abysmal at fighting. Madre is going to move without you. I can’t let mi niñito out if he will stab himself with his own knife.”

 

“Madre, please give me one more chance. I can do it. I know I can.”

 Mi madre sighed heavily before taking her stance again and waited for me. I took my own deep breathe and let myself think. Madre’s way of fighting did absolutely nothing for me. She was brutal and show stopping in her moves. Tarantula was like a beacon for everyone to notice. I never did well with so much attention.

 I slowed my thoughts and breathing. I became the one thing I was best at being: invisible. My hand landed on my mother’s jugular before she noticed me two minutes later. How was I able to sneak up to mi madre’s throat? Simple misdirection. I waited for her attention to waver and ducked out of her line of sight.

 My mother looked shaken for only a moment before a smile sprawled on her face. A laugh reverberated through the air. Mi madre looked down at me and her eyes gleamed.

 

“A Grayson who walks in the shadows. How special you are mi niñito. How different you are from your father, as you should be. You are a Flores. Remember mijo. Remember my Shadow Walker.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going to pick up now. Be warned, this fanfic won't end without some big tragedies for the family.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope y'all like it. Dez is a character that popped into my head and wouldn't leave. I'm excited to share him with you guys. Expect sporadic updates, for life is super hectic. This is helping me keep my sanity, so I really want to finish it. I would love advice on writing (no flames), and thanks for reading!


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